Keeping Faith
by Fluff-Slayer
Summary: Companion piece to "On the Subject of Promises." Sophie has a double wedding to plan, a fiance she can't trust, and a mysterious enemy. Fortunately or unfortunately, she also has one of Howl's spell books. The usual mayhem ensues.
1. Chapter 1

1.

It was the second morning after Michael and Martha's wedding, and the moving castle was uncommonly still.

The chairs, plants, and pulpit had gone, but the enlargement spell remained. The normal furniture huddled small and inadequate in the center of what was usually the sitting room. Calcifer complained that it was an ordeal to heat all of that empty air. Howl complained that Calcifer wouldn't know, as he hadn't bothered heating anything since Sophie had overworked him - to which Sophie coughed darkly and did not comment.

That was the extent of their conversation. Calcifer slept or feigned sleep in the grate while Howl and Sophie sat at the worktable, building their separate spells and scarcely looking at one another. The magically enlarged house echoed with the sound of their not-talking, with the ticking of the clock, and, sometimes, with the sputtering of a certain teacup.

Sophie was working on some sort of exercise from Howl's dustiest rudiments book, and she wasn't having much success with it, despite her diligence. The book said her teacup would sing ballads if she got the spell right; so far, it hadn't shown the inclination.

Sophie pursed her lips. She darted a look at Howl, who was concentrating on his larger, more complicated spell, and murmured, "You feel like singing, though, don't you, cup? I bet you have a beautiful voice. Do Howl's saucepan song for me, nice and loud."

The teacup trembled with life. It swiveled sharply in place before belting out in a confidant soprano, "Howl's saucepan song! Howl's saucepan song! Howwwwwllll's saucepaaaannnn sooooonnnnnggggg!"

Sophie tried to stifle it, but the cup slipped through her fingers. It tittered across the worktable and straight into Howl's spell-building mess, where a large bolt overturned it. Still it continued singing, even as it rolled off the edge and shattered on the floor. Each piece took up a voice then, such that a chorus of twenty competing sopranos sang of Howl's song's saucepan.

Howl ducked below the table. When he returned the cup to Sophie, it was whole again and silent. "It won't work that way," he told her. "You have to do it exactly as the book says."

"It's no use," said Sophie. "I can't work this one."

"Try it without cheating," suggested Howl. "The rudiments book doesn't like you to skip steps."

Sophie glared at the book. She pulled it close and pretended to read the exercise again, though she knew the procedure forward and backward. It involved a lot of complicated hand movements as well as "dutiful concentration." Sophie could wiggle her fingers perfectly well, but she couldn't seem to give the spell the attention it wanted.

Since breakfast yesterday, Sophie had had plenty of time to think about what they were planning to do. She had done so all night and well into the morning. Three weeks was an awfully short engagement. Was it improper? Would it cause much talk? Sophie wondered if people would think she had pressured Howl into marrying her because of her sisters, then dismissed the thought. The neighbors thought Howl to be a kind of fairy-tale creature. If anything seemed odd, they were more likely to chalk it up to him than to dear little Sophie, who was about as supernatural as a felt hat.

Thinking of hats made her think of Lettie. She had a flash of memory that involved her sister as a child, peeking crossly from beneath the rim of a large bonnet while Sophie sewed it. Lettie had seemed pleased that they would be married together, but would she resent it in the future? She had always loved to be the center of attention, and a bride ought to be on her wedding day. She shouldn't have to share it with anyone but her devoted Wizard Suliman.

Ben had been the most withdrawn yesterday. That wasn't exactly unlike him, but Sophie thought he'd seemed a little skeptical. Ben was awfully sensible. Perhaps he, like Sophie, was wondering how they were going to accomplish everything in three weeks. Perhaps he was wondering who would rush up the aisle with Lettie's wedding ring if they forgot it or whether they'd have to book the funeral organist.

Sophie's unfocussed eyes fell on the book Howl was using, and a word jumped out at her. She scanned the page, but it was difficult to see - the print got smaller as it went and Howl's arm was across some of it, but from what she could tell it looked like a spell to stop worrying. Now _that_ was worth concentrating on. She wondered if it would be a lot more difficult than convincing a teacup to sing ballads.

Howl took his arm off the book and leaned across the worktable. Sophie jerked guiltily, but he only wanted her hand. Gently he eased each finger out of its white-knuckled fist until they each lay slack in his. "Now," he said. "Isn't that better?"

Sophie looked at their hands. She imagined what they would look like in three weeks with rings glinting and in forty years, when her wrinkles came back and Howl got his first set. She felt very warm, probably because Calcifer was now hovering at her shoulder, reading the teacup spell.

"What do you mean you can't do this?" he said. "They don't get much simpler unless you want to do charms. Maybe you should start her on charms, Howl."

A sudden banging at the door spared both them both from answering. Howl went to answer it, and Calcifer said, "Kingsbury door, I think."

It was. The man on the stoop was impressive and crisp in his red uniform and manicured beard, though the fine sparseness of the latter betrayed his tender age. He pulled a rolled bit of parchment from his bag and read, "For the Wizard Howl, from His Majesty," as if either the recipient or sender was in doubt.

Howl read the letter in silence. Sophie thought she saw an inkling of curiosity in his face and hoped she'd imagined it. If the king summoned him now ... well, it was a bad time for one of his errands, that was all. Their three weeks were quietly ticking away, and though she'd never have admitted it, the idea of tackling this project without him was daunting. Whatever face she made earned her a glance from Calcifer.

An eternity later, it seemed, Howl rolled the parchment up and returned it to the messenger. "Sorry," he said, "I can't come now. I'm going to be married in three weeks, and there's a lot to do. Please tell His Majesty that I'm unavailable until May second."

The messenger puffed up. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Howl gave him a coin and closed the door before he could. The wizard then returned to his worktable, seeming unaware of Sophie and Calcifer's staring. Sophie bent over the spell book so her expression wouldn't betray her to Calcifer, who was certainly hoping it would.

She shouldn't be so surprised. Howl had done the decent thing. He ought to be around to help with his wedding, in whatever capacity a man could. Had she really expected him to go with the messenger?

Well ... yes. She felt terrible for thinking ill of him, but that was just Howl, really. One came to expect that, given the choice, he would sooner run than face anything difficult. Doubtless planning the wedding would be difficult to do - yet here he was, sitting across from her and working with his spell as if the messenger had never come at all. Sophie smiled at him, feeling still guiltier, and said, "What did the king want?"

"What does he ever want?" said Howl. "It's nothing that can't wait three weeks."

"I doubt the king will see it that way," said Calcifer.

"He'll have to," said Howl.

Sophie caught herself sinking lower in her chair and straightened up, pushing the book away. "I think I'll have a break. Tea, anyone?"

"No thanks," said Howl. Calcifer only smoldered; Sophie could tell by the agitated way he was crackling that he knew something was up. She excused herself to the kitchen and filled her teacup with strong tea. As usual, they were out of milk to gentle it. Sophie drank, wincing, and wondered how long she could stay in the kitchen without arousing suspicion. She had often found herself thinking like that since Martha's wedding - about escaping temporarily and stealing time, or rather solitude, to think.

Calcifer and Howl were keeping quiet in the other room. This did not necessarily mean that they weren't talking in other ways, or that they weren't listening out for Sophie. She banged around a bit and hummed, set off an egg timer and poured the tea into the sink. She reached for the tap, thinking nostalgically of the water fights Martha and Lettie had had when Fanny made them wash after dinner.

There came such a ruckus, when she touched the tap, that Sophie thought she might have bespelled something accidentally: a woman's voice said, "My, what's that?" and Calcifer gave a warning shout, and several things crashed, cracked, and exploded in sequence.

Sophie flew into the other room, preparing herself for all sorts of magical disaster. Whatever she expected to see, it was not Fanny.

Her stepmother stood uncertainly by the worktable, where Howl's spell seemed to have combusted. At the sight of Sophie, her cheer and confidence returned to her. She said, "Hello, darling," and bustled over to kiss Sophie's cheek. Her arms were full of packages, which she declined help with and delivered smilingly to the sitting room.

Sophie stepped closer to the worktable. From the looks of it, there wasn't much of the spell that could be saved. Most of it had fallen apart, and what held together was singed black. Howl reappeared from beneath the table with an armful of pieces, obviously disgruntled, though Sophie couldn't tell who he blamed for it. "Bad timing," he said to her unasked question, and Calcifer said dismissively, "It wasn't a very good spell."

Sophie was trying to think of a way to prevent their argument when Michael burst through the front door and stumbled over a misplaced piece of metal. He wasn't much of a runner, but from the state of his hair he seemed to have run all the way across town.

"What is it?" Sophie demanded. "Is everyone all right? Martha?"

"Fine," panted Michael. "It's only that - that part you asked about, Howl. For your spell. I think I saw one near the palace."

"Good to know," said Howl. "Sit. Take a breath." Michael sank gratefully into the chair that drew out for him, and Sophie went into the kitchen for water. When she came back, Calcifer was gone, presumably to the hearth, and Michael seemed steadier.

"I saw Fanny, too," he told Sophie when his glass was drained. "I think she was at Mrs. Tailor's. Did you send her out for something?"

"No, but she's here now," said Sophie, remembering the fact herself. "I'd better see what she wants. Howl, will you please - "

Sophie stopped. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place all at once. It was obvious. Fanny had been at Mrs. Tailor's, but Sophie hadn't sent her. Lettie certainly hadn't either, as she was planning to wear their mother's old dress. It fit her best. Sophie had done the alterations herself.

"Will I what?" said Howl. "Sophie?"

Fanny had had a lot of bags with her... an awful lot of bags.

Sophie walked quietly through the hall and into the sitting room. What she saw there did not surprise her, though it amazed Howl and Michael; their questions trailed off and they stood speechless behind her. Fanny turned and beamed at the three of them, sweeping her small arms wide.

"Well?" she said. "What do you think?"


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Fanny had made good use of the extra space.

All of her bags had been opened, their contents arranged in a kind of shop-window display: five kinds of fresh-cut flowers peeking from an overcrowded vase, wedding invitations spread in a fan on the table, spools of ribbon and lace, piles of fabric in various shades of pink, three small cakes, and many other things. Clearly center and meant to be focal was a high white pile of frills and laces that trailed off the couch and stretched nearly to the hearth. It was the dress in which Fanny had become the second Mrs. Hatter.

Sophie's heart sank down to her ankles. "Fanny," she said weakly. "How wonderful."

"Oh, darling, do you like it?" Fanny gushed. "It needs to be altered, of course, but Mrs. Tailor says it's in wonderful condition. Will you wear it?"

Would she wear it? The dress was lovely, being Fanny's, but it was hardly what Sophie had in mind. For some time she'd been perfecting a mental sketch of the dress she would someday sew for herself, just as she had sewn Martha's. It never occurred to her that one might be provided... certainly not this particular dress.

Fanny waited, still smiling. Sophie was preparing herself to answer in some fashion, though she wasn't certain which, when the front door opened, Howl's ruined spell gave a wheeze, and Martha hurried in, shouldering past Michael and Howl without even an "excuse me." She placed herself between her sister and mother as if to protect one from the other. Her sleeves were rolled back, half her hair was flying loose, and she was covered in flour. She looked positively fierce.

Michael said sheepishly, "Martha," and Sophie said, "Now, wait a moment," but Martha didn't seem to hear. She swept the room with a hard glance and said quietly, "What's all this, Mother?"

"Just a dress and some flowers," said Fanny in the same tone. The friction was electric, and Sophie thought, as she stepped between them, that they were in for a fight sooner or later - and better later than now. She noticed wearily that Howl and Michael had slipped away in the commotion.

"Speaking of flowers, Fanny, those lilies are gorgeous! I think I prefer the white ones - "

"Oh, so do I," said Fanny, snapping back into her smile. "They'll go so nicely with pink or beige or even orange, Sophie! I've been thinking about your color scheme, and it seems to me, personally - "

Fanny was off as if there had never been an interruption. Martha stood back, arms crossed, and watched her mother guide Sophie around the room, pointing out this ribbon and that fabric, encouraging her to sample the cakes. The cakes irritated Martha more than any of the rest. To think Fanny had gone to another bakery...! But no, she hadn't. Martha saw by Sophie's placating glance that they were Cesari's. That meant Fanny had taken care to visit when Martha was busy or out.

Fine, Martha thought: if Mother wants a war, I'll give her one. She marched right over and calmly plucked the paper from Fanny's inattentive hand. "Sophie gets final say on the guest list," she said when Fanny turned. "It's only fair. Here, Sophie."

Fanny looked momentarily disgruntled. Sophie gave a tiny smile behind her stepmother's back. "If you don't mind," she said to Fanny. "I do have it mostly worked out, anyway."

"Darling, of course I don't mind!" laughed Fanny, but of course she did. She had a little more to say about the flowers, and then she swept out as suddenly as she'd come, leaving her display to sprawl about the sitting room. Sophie stood in the middle of it, clutching the list, and managed for an instant to forget about Martha and her disappearing fiance and even Calcifer, who she had noticed was not in the hearth. She was thinking so hard and so fast about ribbons, flowers, and fabrics that she didn't hear the door open and close again behind her.

It would be all right, she told herself. Who cared about ribbons, anyway? She and Lettie would manage all the important details. If Fanny and possibly Martha wanted to see to the others, then that was just as well... but oh, they'd nearly fought just now. Martha wasn't patient, and Fanny could be overbearing. Sophie would have to watch them every minute and keep the peace.

"Martha," she began, but the silence was empty. She turned and found Martha gone, with only a small ring of flour to prove that she had ever been there. All the air seemed to go out of Sophie then. She stared at the flour, then stared at the paper in her hand. There were so many names she didn't recognize. Fanny's friends, probably, or old customers she didn't remember... some of them had probably known her father, known Sophie and Lettie when they were girls. What would they think of this pink and orange spectacle Fanny was planning?

Sophie's feet carried her automatically through the hall, toward the kitchen for a rag. She was still looking at her list and thinking of the people who might be on it, and she did not notice Howl and Suliman at the worktable, bent over the spell. She also failed to notice that their conversation cut off when she came into the room.

"Sophie?" said Howl.

"Oh, you're back," said Sophie. The helplessness in her voice betrayed her; she tried to make up for it with a brighter, "How do, Ben?"

"Fine, just fine," said Wizard Suliman, but his eyebrows were up. She hadn't been quick enough.

Howl stood. He clapped Suliman's shoulder as he came around the table and slipped an arm around Sophie, leading her gently into the kitchen. He ignored her protests that everything was fine and waved off her apology for interrupting, and in very little time (for Howl), she had a hot cup of tea in her hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," he said when she objected. "Drink that, please, Miss Hatter. All of it, and then we'll talk. Go on."

Sophie sipped. It took her awhile to finish because Howl liked his tea to have the taste and consistency of liquid sugar. When she was done, he took the cup away and surprised her by lifting her, like a child, to sit on the counter.

"Now," he said, hands on her knees. "What say you tell me what's making your forehead wrinkle?"

What should she tell him? The list in its entirety was too long. Mentioning the possible impropriety would only hurt his feelings, and Howl, being a man, couldn't be expected to understand her fears about Lettie. The other reasons seemed too trivial, so she told him about Martha and Fanny and the fight that had almost happened in the sitting room. She put a lot of feeling into it to make it seem like her only concern and paused a few times for effect. The pausing wasn't difficult, as she found the warmth and location of his hands very distracting.

Howl seemed to listen. He nodded in all of the right places, and when she finished speaking, he told her what she had already decided. "We'll just have to watch them and keep them working separately. I would think you'd want that anyway. Forgive me, but Fanny strikes me as slightly overbearing."

"She means well," said Sophie, and Howl said, "I know," and they smiled at one another. Something tight released in Sophie's chest, and when Howl lifted her down from the counter, she kissed him impulsively.

This kiss wasn't much like the other. As it deepened it filled her with warmth that was very different from the tea. Where had he learned to turn his head that way, just so, when she was so clumsy about it? Did he know that his fingers on her back tickled wonderfully, gave her shivers, or was he guessing? And the other arm, curled around her - for surely she would float away if he didn't hold on - was so perfect, so fitting, that for a few beautiful seconds she forgot all about Fanny and the mess in the sitting room.

It couldn't last. Sophie remembered the ring of flour and pulled away, smiling as she reached behind him for the drawer with the cleaning cloths in it. "Of course," he groaned when he saw it. "You're incorrigible."

"Ah, ah, ah," Sophie mimicked. "Now _that's_ the pot calling the kettle black, Wizard Howl!" It earned her another wry smile, and she realized she'd been trying to provoke one. Before Howl could respond with another quip, Calcifer floated into the kitchen, smoldering in more than one sense of the word.

"Howl," he said flatly. "Your friend the king - "

"- isn't feeling so friendly at the moment, I'd wager." Howl sighed, looking put-upon. "If he had his way, I'd live at the castle with a collar on my neck, just like one of his hounds!"

"Is he very cross?" said Sophie.

"You could say that," said Calcifer. Sophie didn't like the meaning look he shared with Howl. She was all too familiar with that sort of look. It meant they had a secret.

Well! If they were going to have secret conversations, they didn't need Sophie in the room. She pulled free of Howl's arm and marched for the sitting room, ignoring the bemused look from Suliman. When she came back, they were all at the worktable, leaning again over the spell.

"It's good workmanship," Suliman was saying. "Solid, technically correct... I don't know why it isn't working."

"I do," said Calcifer. "He's a nervous mess, and this spell is delicate. It requires _dutiful concentration."_

"Don't quote rudiments at me," Howl warned. "Who do you have to thank for your continued existence, you great birthday candle?"

"Sophie," said Calcifer, and they shared another look. This one wasn't at all difficult to decipher, and it provoked one of Suliman's rare smiles. Sophie waited around the corner for another minute, but it seemed they were finished talking. She set her rag on the banister and went up to shower, feeling, if possible, more troubled.

What was Howl nervous about? She locked the bathroom door and untied her hair, turning the water to hot. He hadn't said anything to her about it... but of course he hadn't. They were all working so hard to keep Sophie from worrying. She was being too transparent lately. Howl and Suliman must think she was wearing a bit thin after the stress of Martha's wedding, and maybe she was - but that didn't mean she needed to be coddled!

Sophie stepped gingerly into the water. Since Calcifer had left their fireplace, all the taps ran cold. Speak of the devil, he _knew_ something. Sophie had seen it in the look he'd given Howl in the kitchen. He had had something specific to say about the king, but Howl had cut him off.

Tiptoe around her, would they? Protect her, would they? There was nothing for it but to give them a taste of their own medicine. Sophie washed her hair out, dried and dressed and made herself look presentable, and fairly skipped downstairs to where the men were. She found them at the worktable, more or less the way she'd left them. Howl was leaning into it, pressing something flat while Suliman sawed at it with a small personal knife that wasn't meant for metalwork. Only Calcifer, hovering over the table with a dull expression, noticed her entrance. "Going out?" he said, as if it hardly mattered.

The metal piece snapped, and Howl looked round quickly. "Ah - _are _you going out, Sophie dear? Now?"

The "dear" rankled under present circumstances, but Sophie allowed it. She gave them all her vaguest smile. "I thought I'd go for a short walk. You don't mind, do you?"

"No," said Howl, glancing at Calcifer and Suliman, "but I heard it was supposed to rain."

"Pour, really," said Calcifer, whose dullness had increased threefold. "You don't want to get caught in that."

"It's also going to be dark soon," said Wizard Suliman. This, for what it was worth, was probably true.

"Oh, what a bunch of old worriers," laughed Sophie. She had been edging backward out of the room, wondering how far she could go before someone protested outright. They watched her, Calcifer dully and Howl casually and Suliman with his usual frown. Howl opened his mouth to say something, but she didn't get the chance to hear it because the dismantled spell started choking and Michael came around the corner at a run and skidded into Sophie.

The word "winded" didn't do him justice. He caught Sophie's elbow to steady her, but she ended up steadying him because of the way his knees were knocking together. Howl got a chair under him, and Suliman ducked into the kitchen while the other three bent around the breathless apprentice wizard, who was trying to muster up enough breath to speak.

Sophie thought she heard the words "street" and "saw me" and "bloody fast." Howl placed a comforting hand on Michael's shoulder, but Sophie noticed that he was gripping it a bit hard. "Howl," she said, and he let go, seeming dazed.

Suliman returned with a glass of water. Michael drank it loudly and unsteadily. Everyone was quiet for a long moment, waiting.

"All right, Michael?" said Howl. Michael's boyish features had taken on the worried, distracted look he sometimes had after an argument with Martha. He didn't look all right.

Just when the silence was becoming unbearable, Michael cleared his throat and said, "The weather's strange in Kingsbury today," to nobody in particular.

No one spoke. Calcifer had lost his dullness altogether, and Suliman's face was blank. Howl's eyes were on Michael's, and they seemed very wizardly.

"Strange how?" Sophie pressed. "Michael?"

Michael took a sudden interest in his hands. One had some scrapes on the palm, as if he'd fallen on it. The other had scratches on the outside. "Mostly it's just raining," he said, with a brave attempt at sounding casual.

Sophie wasn't having it. Since none of the men seemed inclined to explain, she let go of Michael and marched into the foyer. The knob was still set to Kingsbury. She opened the door.

The wind was fierce and, as the Howl had predicted, it was raining. A strong, wet gust slammed the door shut again, but not before Sophie got a chance to see that the street was full of mewing, squirming, furry bodies - as was the air.

It was, in fact, raining kittens.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Sophie knew three things for sure. Firstly, that whatever was making Howl nervous had nothing to do with the wedding; secondly, that Michael and Calcifer were somehow involved; and thirdly, that they expected her not to notice.

This last offended her greatly, but she didn't show it. She put on a bland face when Howl came home with stories about the batty old witch who had filled Kingsbury with cats. She acted gullible when Michael confessed that he had a secret dread of them, and that was what had rattled him the day before. He always blushed when he lied, and his cheeks confirmed what reason had already told her: he and Howl were hiding something.

Sophie went about her work with ferocious productivity. She sent the finalized guest list with Suliman to give to Lettie, who had volunteered to address envelopes. She tracked down the elusive wedding organist and ensured that he be available, barring death or imprisonment, on May the first. She assembled a tentative menu, wrote out a shopping list, and divided the cooking among herself, her sisters, and Fanny, so that nothing should burn to neglected cinders. Most notably, she cleaned.

The house was in good order, but she cleaned as if it were not. If Howl noticed anything odd about this, he didn't confront her; he simply warned Calcifer when he knew she would be mopping and kept his guests, namely Michael and Wizard Suliman, out of her way. Sophie thought they must all be working hard on that spell of his, because the mess was taking up ever more of the worktable. She would hear them sometimes at night, muttering to one another over the clutter and banging on things. Judging by the state of their fingers, the spell sometimes banged back.

Sophie wasn't very curious about the spell itself. Its purpose would become obvious once they got it to work. For the moment, all it did was fall apart and make little noises at random, neither of which seemed particularly threatening.

A week and a half after Kingsbury was flooded with kittens, Sophie opened the door to collect the milk and found the doorstep rather more crowded than usual. Fanny and the taciturn Mr. Smith were waiting there, each with a fist raised to knock.

Sophie fumbled for the words to properly greet her stepmother's husband. She was reprieved when Fanny pulled her into a long, tight embrace, and effectively dismissed when the two slid past her, Mr. Smith clearing his throat in apology and Fanny calling, "Hello, Howl? Are you in, dear?"

Howl came down the stairs as Sophie closed the door. He was tugging a sleeve into place and was likely as surprised as Sophie about the summoning, though he hid it better. "Good morning, Fanny, Mr. Smith." He shot a quick look at Sophie, standing behind them with the milk bottle, and seemed amused at what he saw. "How may I be of service?"

Fanny laughed her sparkling socialite laugh. "Oh, you _are_ a darling! _We_ want to help _you,_ Howl." Her smile had been growing by degrees ever since she'd come in; now it took up the better part of her face. Howl's own smile shrank as he saw the trunk in Mr. Smith's hand. Sophie smiled in a very unladylike fashion that Martha might have called a smirk.

"Well," she said brightly, "isn't that thoughtful, Howl?" She came around them on her way to the kitchen but paused in the doorway. "Do you mind if I ask what's in the trunk, Mr. Smith?"

"Not at all," crowed Fanny. "Do take a look. We've brought you an assortment!" She pressed a buckle on top of the trunk and it popped open, revealing three fold-out drawers packed with clothes: formal jackets, slacks, bow ties, regular ties, even a pair of glossy black shoes. Sophie, watching Howl struggle to arrange his features appropriately, disguised her laugh as a cough. Mr. Smith's selections were three drab shades of brown and gray; Fanny's were sunrise orange and petal pink, sometimes both. Howl would never consent to wear anything in that trunk.

"Well?" prompted Fanny. "Thoughts?"

Howl lifted a candy-striped tie from the stop drawer with the utmost tact. "This is very thoughtful of you, Fanny. Mr. Smith. Unfortunately, I'm afraid you've gone to unnecessary trouble, as Sophie has already begun work on my outfit."

"Oh, that?" said Sophie. "Don't be ridiculous, Howl. It's nothing compared to these fine things."

Fanny beamed. Howl paled. "Now don't be modest," he said desperately. "You've been working on that suit for more than a month."

"Don't worry," said Sophie. "I'm sure you'll make use of it some other time." She crossed the room and kissed his cheek so he would understand she was punishing him. Then she took the milk into the kitchen, where she was free to laugh.

To his everlasting credit, Howl did not protest further. He could see no escape that wasn't ungracious, and so he resigned himself to Fanny's affectionate care. Sophie listened in while she cleaned, smiling at Howl's diplomatic responses. Fanny made him try on a suit of each color "to get an idea." Sophie was delighted to see that the orange clashed with his skin, and the pink made him look like he was blushing. Perhaps he was. It would serve him right.

Sophie soon realized why she had been avoiding the room with the worktable. The spell-building mess had begun to overflow. Odd twists of metal peeked from behind the table's legs. Bolts and nails had rolled onto the floor to be stepped on. A puddle of paste had dried mid-drip, suspended between the edge of the table and the seat of a chair. Worse, there was food: dried remnants of dinner stuck to dishes and half mugs of Howl's cloying tea, which attracted flies better than the flowers Sophie had set in a vase (now overturned and dry.) It was bad, but Sophie had seen worse. She reminded herself of Howl's room while she organized, scraped, and scrubbed the room neat. He'd have to see to that mess himself if he ever expected her to sleep there.

It felt good to take out her frustrations on the mess. She was glad to have saved it for when she really needed the distraction. Over the last few days, the uneasy feeling in her stomach had hardened into grim certainty that whatever Howl was hiding from her wasn't anything trivial. He'd gone to such lengths not to involve her, he must think it serious. Sophie found she was actually afraid, not for herself, but for Howl, Calcifer, and Michael. What if they got into trouble? How could she help them if she didn't even know where they went during the day? The thought made her shudder.

Or maybe that was Howl's spell. Something about it was different today, though it looked the same. Sophie stared at the odd little thing on the worktable and had the peculiar feeling it was staring back. It seemed _aware_ of her somehow. She didn't want to go near it, much less touch it, so she left its innermost circle of mess and swept the rest into a box, which she carried upstairs to the hall closet.

Eventually Fanny and Mr. Smith went home (though they left the trunk.) Howl had nothing to say about the day's earlier events at dinner, and Sophie, feeling a small pinch of conscience, restrained herself from teasing him. They ate in near silence until a very dour Calcifer floated in. He caught sight of them, eyed their plates, and grew dourer.

"A sit-down dinner," he said. "Must be nice."

"Won't you join us?" said Sophie.

"What's the use?" said Calcifer. "Can't sit. I'll be in the hearth if anyone needs me." This last was directed at Howl, and he left the room despite Sophie's protests. Howl stared after him, and for the distance in his eyes, he might as well have been in Strangia. Sophie excused herself and carried the weight on her shoulders upstairs to the shower. It was no use pressing the issue; she'd have to come up with a strategy.

Three days passed. Each night Sophie lay awake, asking herself the same questions. They plagued her while she worked and followed her to bed, where she had long, confusing dreams that were full of nameless horror and Howl's spooky spell and kittens. For all her brooding, she knew she was no closer to making Howl confide in her. If his mind was made up (and she thought it was), she'd have better luck trying Calcifer or Michael. But would they tell her, if Howl made them think she couldn't handle it? Was that really what he thought?

Because she was thinking so hard, the knock at the door startled her more than was strictly warranted. Then again, it was the middle of the night.

"Sophie?"

"Yes?"

"May I come in?"

Sophie swallowed her initial, pathetic reaction. The soft hoarseness of his voice nearly undid her, because in her dreams she was half convinced she'd lost him already. It would be so easy to have him in and fall asleep beside him, where his warm solidness would reassure her that nothing bad could happen to them...

...But of course it could, and she needed to find out exactly what the Bad Thing that could happen was. So she tempered her reply with what serenity she possessed and sighed, "I suppose. It's locked, though."

The lock clicked seconds later, and Howl trailed into the room in one of his silky pajama sets. He turned on the lamp with a well aimed flick and she saw that they were a deep and flattering shade of blue. Howl was the snappiest dresser she knew, whatever the hour.

He caught her noticing and did a little spin and flourish. "Do you like them? The royal family sent them for my birthday."

Sophie wasn't sure about that, but she said, "How kind of them. They're pretty." Then, because the opportunity presented itself, she said, "I think you'd look better in pink or orange, though."

Howl stared at her, arms still aloft from his flourish. He lowered them and came to sit on the edge of her bed. "Yes, about that. It was utterly heartless of you to abandon me when I needed you most. Explain yourself."

Sophie scoffed, but the way he'd said that struck a nerve. _When I needed you most._ That almost undid her a second time, because she had come to accept that sometime soon he might actually need her help more than ever before - and she, ignorant of the situation, would be unable to give it.

"It serves you right," she said finally, without much feeling. She stopped because she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue with, "You left me with her the first time," or "You've been sneaking around like a canary-eating cat since Martha's wedding. Explain _that._"

Howl smiled at her. "Oh yes," he said. "I deserve worse. My transgressions are, after all, so numerous," - he fell back on the bed, resting his head on Sophie's knees - "and far too many of them have involved slighting you. For my penance, I will marry you in an ugly suit." He sighed heavily. "I'd do almost anything to gain your family's favor."

"Our family's," Sophie corrected, "and they love you, as you well know." Then she kissed him, because there was nothing else to do when he was looking up at her so hopefully. His resignation was only an act. He'd never attended a wedding looking less than his best, and he didn't intend to start with his own. If anyone could find a way around Fanny, it was Howl.

Howl was so self-assured. He might think he could smile and charm his way out of the Bad Thing's notice... and Sophie knew, though she was less experienced in such matters, that there were things in the world so dark and dangerous that even Howl couldn't charm them. He could be hurt, or worse.

It was no use saying any of that baldly, so she tried to do it without words. She kissed him harder, took hold of his soft, slippery nightshirt and pulled him up so they would be on even footing. She held him close so he'd know how terrible it would be to lose him when they'd only just found each other. She touched her forehead to his to say that she understood his wish to protect her but could not accept his decision to keep her uninformed. With lighter, softer kisses, she told him how much she loved him - more than she had ever accounted for, more than she had expected to love anyone. _I can be trusted with your secrets,_ these kisses said. _You can tell me._

_Maybe I can help._

Howl's clever hands warmed her face, bruise and all. He kissed her forehead once and gave her his answer, or lack of one. "Sorry," he said, bringing his feet back to the floor. He didn't sound very sorry. "As much as I enjoy the cajolery, I can't explain now. I don't know the half of it myself."

Sophie heard the lie in his voice, and all the warmth he had imparted left her. She felt cold and stormy in its absence.

"You might at least give me an idea of what we're up against. Whoever's chasing you is bound to turn up here eventually. They always do."

Howl laughed. "Is that what you've put together? Nobody's chasing me, Sophie. That's one thing you needn't worry about." He sounded as if he genuinely believed it. Why, then, did his eyes darken when he spoke?

"I'm not worried," Sophie snapped, because one lie deserved another. "I only want to be prepared for whatever is likely to happen."

Howl stopped in the door, shoulders tight. Then he turned and treated her to his most charming smile. Even now, a mere week from the day she was to marry him, it made her heart do a funny series of flips. He said soothingly, "Hear me on this. Nothing is going to happen that we haven't planned. You have my word."

He closed the door. Sophie called after him, "A fat lot of good that does me!" but he would not be riled. Her next course of action was clear. She listened for the click of his door before she rose from the bed and quietly, oh so quietly crept to the hall closet, where she had earlier stashed the box of clutter.

The closet door's hinges needed oiling. She paused at the noise, but Howl did not reappear. She rummaged through the box. Rags, scrap metal, a sheet of heavy parchment with chunks missing... and here it was. She returned to her room, locked the door, and wedged her desk chair beneath the doorknob. Then she turned her attention to the spell book.

It was the same Howl had been using the morning she tried to work the teacup spell. She opened it, fanning her fingers over it, and murmured, "I'd like to see the spell for worrying, please."

There was a dubious sort of pause, as if the book knew it shouldn't oblige her. Then it stirred. The pages flicked slowly by in twos until the spell lay before her, fairly humming with promise.

Sophie read through it several times. She tried to follow the directions literally, but that didn't work. Neither did her attempts to riddle out its hidden meaning. There were quite a few words in it that she was sure she'd mispronounced, and the gestures it wanted were complicated. Halfway through sketching out one of Suliman's all-purpose circles, she remembered what Calcifer had said about the teacup spell. _"What do you mean you can't do this? They don't get much simpler unless you want to do charms."_ She'd never quite managed to make the teacup sing, and that was a rudiments exercise. This was advanced magic.

Sophie glared at the book. While it couldn't glare back, she thought it seemed smug. Her frustration was mounting: at herself, for her ineptitude; at Howl, Michael, and Calcifer for their secrecy; and at circumstances in general, for being so difficult. As it stood, nothing was likely to change, and she could only worry harder. It wasn't fair.

Such was the dangerous mindset Sophie found herself in. On any other night, she would very likely have pushed the book away in disgust and retired, but not now. Now she pushed the book away and spoke firmly to herself with all the authority she could muster. What she said was, "I've had quite enough. Starting now, I don't want to worry. I shan't feel anxious or upset or anything else."

The room seemed to sigh. Sophie realized what she had said. The realization filled her with horror akin to illness, but it was too late to take the spell back; she could feel its coils constricting around her like a large, invisible snake. Perhaps Howl would feel it and come...? But no, he wouldn't, not from upstairs. He was probably asleep, and she couldn't make a sound. The light blinked out and Sophie fell into the cold darkness, cursing herself. _Now_ she'd done it.

...

It was not the light that woke her next morning. Nor was it the activity downstairs, though she could hear it quite clearly with her ear pressed to the floor. For the first time in her life, Sophie was awakened by the disturbing knowledge that she had done something terribly, permanently bad. The last inkling of unease faded, however, when she sat up and found herself distracted by an aching head. Now that was odd. What _had_ she done last night?

The spell book was there to remind her. It lay nearby, wrong side up and disdainful. Sophie smoothed its bent pages and closed it, trying to remember why she ought to feel guilty about the spell. It didn't seem to have hurt her. She felt fine, or perhaps better than fine. She rose and dressed and went peacefully downstairs, where this belief was challenged somewhat.

All conversation ceased when she walked in. Martha and Michael froze over their teacups; Lettie, rifling through her handbag at the counter, dropped it with a thud and metallic chink. Howl turned from the window to see what had surprised them, and his face lost all its dreaminess.

"Good Lord," he said into the silence. "What's happened to you, Sophie?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your face," said Lettie haltingly.

"It looks like someone hit you," said Martha. All the incredulous faces turned to Howl, who said, "Really. You can't believe I did that to her."

Sophie lifted a hand to her face and prodded it. The right side felt normal, but the left was swollen and tender. She had a decent bruise. "No one's hit me," she assured them. "I fell out of bed last night."

Everyone relaxed at that. Lettie resumed her rummaging while Michael and Martha went on sipping their tea. Howl crossed the room and turned her chin to inspect the bruise. He rubbed it with a thumb as if it were a stubborn spot of paint, and the pain lessened. Sophie smiled at him because it seemed right, but Howl was frowning at her.

"What?" she asked. "Is there something else on my face?"

"No, no," he said. "It's just... I could swear there's something different about you today. Perhaps it's your eyes."

"I expect they're looking a bit tired," said Sophie. "Not so strange, is it, given the hour you chose to visit last night?"

Michael choked on his tea. Lettie and Martha exchanged a furtive look that reminded Sophie of the kind that Howl and Calcifer often shared over her head. She knew they had misunderstood, but it didn't seem worth the trouble of setting them straight. Howl didn't correct them, either. He was still frowning at Sophie when the front door opened and Suliman came in, seeming mildly surprised. As he glanced around the room, a slow smile grew on his face.

"Nice morning," he said. "Lovely weather out."

Howl agreed that it was. Sophie had the distinct impression that they weren't talking about the weather and suspected it had something to do with the silence of Howl's spell, which, she noticed, had disappeared at last from the worktable. Yesterday this would have annoyed her, but this morning she saw no point in troubling herself. She marched into the pantry, where an apron was hanging on a hook.

"Who wants breakfast?" she called. "We've got all the usual staples. How about pancakes with bacon and eggs?"

The expressions around the room were really quite comical.

"But, Sophie," began Lettie.

"Oh, and we've got oranges. I'll squeeze some fresh juice."

"But, Sophie," said Martha, "we can't now. It's nearly ten."

"Brunch, then," said Sophie. "Would you prefer orange grapefruit? Both?" She sought the juicing crank in a cabinet, with such a loud series of bangs and crashes that Lettie had to repeat herself at a shout.

"You haven't forgotten about our errands, have you? We've got a lot to do today!"

Sophie straightened up, sliced an orange, and arranged it in the crank. "There's always something that wants doing. It's no excuse to skip breakfast. That goes for you, too, gentlemen."

Howl, Michael, and Suliman stopped mid-turn, looking guilty. "But, Sophie, there's work to be done," said Howl. "Surely another morning might be more suitable?"

"No," said Sophie, "you shall all sit and wait. It won't take long." She turned her back on their astonished faces. Sheer surprise that Sophie, of all people, would delay their work and errands kept them seated until her breakfast was set before them in all its syrupy, eggy, fresh-squeezed glory.

After the initial shock wore off, the breakfast's reception was quite good. No one could help enjoying Sophie's pancakes, whatever the circumstances, and the orange-grapefruit juice had a delightful bite. Howl collected the plates when everyone had finished. They all sat back in their chairs and smiled at one another.

Lettie coughed lightly. "I've an idea. Why don't we do our errands in Market Chipping, since the weather's so fine? We could stop by that cute little sweetshop afterward. You know, the one with the wonderful taffy."

"Astrid's," said Sophie. "Why? What's the matter with Kingsbury now?"

"Nothing," said Howl, returning to his chair. "It will be crowded, though. Heavy traffic this time of year, due to the holiday."

"I'd like to avoid the crowds myself," said Martha. Her smile became a very mischievous grin. "Also, if we have the time, I've got some things to show you at Cesari's." She seemed not to notice Lettie's irritable look.

"Fine," said Sophie, who could not bring herself to care that they were conspiring to lie to her or, if she were honest, what state Kingsbury was in. What difference did it make where they went, so long as the errands were done? She fetched her shoes, bid farewell to the men, and left the house with her sisters, who were privately shocked at how easy it had been to convince her.

The day passed in a hot, sunny blur. They haggled the butcher down to a reasonable price on an unreasonable amount of meat and selected dresses for Martha and Fanny. Sophie found her new unconcern very useful at the butcher's but less so in the dress shop, where Lettie scolded her for her lack of opinion. It also did not help her when she was separated from the others by a large crowd. It took her awhile to find them again, and by then they were worried and cross. Lettie scolded her for her indifference, reminding her that even Market Chipping had its unsavory characters. Sophie wondered if she had been that excitable before the spell.

Martha still wanted to go to Cesari's, but after a few choice words from and a short argument with Lettie, they decided to go to the sweetshop instead. Sophie guessed this had something to do with Fanny's underhandedness involving the cakes and gathered from Martha's sly expression that she had not given up, whatever Lettie said. They bought three lumps of taffy to share and ate it on the long walk back.

Because she wasn't brooding, Sophie found she had lots of attention for the people around her. She noticed that Market Chipping was getting its share of the holiday crowd, which annoyed Martha and flustered Lettie. There were all manner of strange faces about: dark faces with wiry beards, squinty faces with odd hats, very tall people and people who might well have had a gnome someplace in their lineage. Most of the strangers were cheerful enough, but a few seemed put off by the holiday atmosphere.

One of these, in particular, caught Sophie's eye. It was a young woman sitting alone outside a cafe, staring into her teacup as if it contained all worldly wisdom. She had a pretty face and was dressed in a vibrant outfit Howl himself would have approved of, but her loveliness was marred by the utter hopelessness she projected. Sophie tried to remember how she had felt on the May Day she'd met Howl, nervous and alone in her mousy gray dress, and found the memory foggy. If she could have remembered, she would doubtless have been able to commiserate better. Still, she hoped a charming stranger would offer to buy the girl a drink.

A thick gray cloud rolled over Market Chipping then, and it began unexpectedly to rain. There was a general rush to get indoors, but Lettie produced an umbrella from her bag so they could keep walking. The crowd thinned, and because of that, they were able to see Michael coming from a good distance.

He was walking quite briskly and wearing one of his practice disguises, complete with a beard and bowler and walking stick. From afar, he looked rather a lot like a spry middle-aged man, but the women were not fooled. Lettie and Sophie saw through the shallow magic, and Martha was, after all, his wife. They slowed to watch him approach, chewing their taffy beneath Lettie's umbrella.

"Hello," said Martha. "What are you doing this far out?"

Sophie noticed that Michael was white beneath his beard. He glanced around them in a worried way, then slipped an arm around Martha's shoulders. "You've all finished your errands, have you?" The women assured him they had. "Good," said Michael. "Good. Mind coming back to Howl's house with me for a bit?"

Lettie had paled too. "Of course," she said. "It's no good walking around in this weather." Martha seemed, like Sophie, at a loss; she looked at them hard, but Michael and Lettie weren't saying. Because she had no worries to distract her, Sophie was aware of each time they glanced over their shoulders. Something had them spooked.


End file.
